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The world is gray
the reality cruel, they say
I am dreamer
of the reality, I am no keeper
of the dreams, I am a reaper
My head buried between the clouds
'tis a wonderland; the world, it shrouds
Colourful and bright,
Oh, what a majestic sight!
The universe, as if rehearsing to attain the proper harmony; ingenuity, it's verse.
The celestial bodies; an elysian vision, aligned—tempestuous to being the most calm;
This world is utopian, depends on the visionary; I had an epiphany.
The world is gray
The reality cruel, they say
I am a dreamer, a seeker
a wondering wanderer.
So, I write—
of the universe;
of better and of worse;
of the stars and the scars;
of the sky and of the people who are sly,
of the land and of the beaches and the sand, of the nature and its portraiture;
of the seasons, the treasons and all the reasons;
of the day, the night and of the midnight cry
and the wordplay that sits on the sheaf of leaves and heaves, appears to be magic in mayhem and tragic to phlegm.

I like the way the poem floors. It is about being a dreamer, maybe one thinks too deeply about life. What I think could have avoided are the two these tow lines, see here: http://prntscr.com/fsek8b

I feel that these two lines are a bit misplaced and spoil the floor of events.

Great poem though.

I liked how you enumerated the contrasting ideas on the last part of the poem. It sounded so good when read out loud. Thanks for sharing this.